She finished the cup of champagne and poured another. When half of that was gone, he kissed her again. So sweet. He wanted to hold her in his arms forever.

Then she pulled back, regarding him with tears in her eyes. “Hank, this is not possible.”

It was as if she had read his mind. “Don’t say that.” He touched a finger to her soft lips, still damp from champagne. “I love you. I’m completely in love with you.”

She began to cry. “Hank, don’t. You cannot. I . . . There is something I must explain.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I could listen to you talk all day.” Even a small amount of champagne made him giddy, probably because it felt so good to tell her what was in his heart.

“I am married. I have a husband.”

He instantly pulled back. Jesus. His heart sank, weighted by shock and disappointment. A husband? How could this young, beautiful girl already have a husband? “I’m real sorry, Lisette. If I’d known, I would never be so disrespectful. Not in a million years.”

That only made her cry harder. Her tears hurt him a hundred times worse than his bum leg. “What can I do to make it up to you? I wish I could take back the words. I’m so stupid . . .”

She gently placed her hand over his, and even that small gesture made his head spin. The tears shone like silver on her face. “Ah, Hank. Your words are beautiful, and I will cherish them always. Never think that telling me you love me is the wrong thing to say.”

“But . . . you’re married.”

“I did not marry for love, and once it was done, I never dreamed anything would change for me. You brought this change, Hank. A wonderful, terrible thing is happening to us. I love you, too.”

For a moment, he thought he’d heard wrong. “What? Did you just say—”

“Yes. I love you with all my heart. I know I shouldn’t, but my heart doesn’t listen.” She used a corner of her apron to dab at her tears while a bittersweet smile curved her lips. She drank more champagne, then handed him the cup. “It’s so impossible. At the same time, when I’m with you, I can believe anything is possible.”

“But you’re married,” he repeated. He couldn’t picture it. He couldn’t imagine her in some other life, with some other fellow.

She nodded. “It is . . . not like this.” Again, she took his hand, studying their linked fingers. “Not like you and me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he took his hand away from hers. “Tell me. I want to understand.”

Her expression turned grim. “Marrying Didier was not my choice.”

“That’s his name? Didier?” Hank tried to conjure up an image of the sort of man she would marry, even though she didn’t love him.

“Didier Palomar. He is a rich man, older than me, the mayor of Bellerive. His first wife died young, and he wanted another to give him an heir. My family was in great trouble when I first met him. Both of my brothers were dead, and my father had suffered an accident. He will never walk again.”